Adoption Day
by theypreferthetermpeople
Summary: On the morning of Mariana and Jesús' adoption, Mariana has some second thoughts. Luckily, her new moms love her enough to reassure her.


_Today I was riding the bus home from class and I saw some really cute small children and it made me want to write about when the Fosters were cute children so I pulled out my phone and did. I still don't own The Fosters._

* * *

"Come on, everyone!" Stef hollered up the stairs, checking her phone for the time impatiently. "Let's move it!"  
Her youngest son, Jesús, came thundering down the stairs, his shirt mis-buttoned and his tie askew.  
"Brandon won't put his tie on," he announced importantly. "Mama's yelling at him."  
"Yelling?" Stef raises an eyebrow. Her partner rarely yelled.  
"Okay, she's arguing with him," Jesús corrected himself. "Can I play video games?"  
"No, you goofball, we have to go meet with Bill. Where's Mariana?" Jesús shrugged.  
"In her room."  
Stef sighed. "You stay right here by the door, okay? We're gonna go in just a minute."

She pounded up the stairs and down the hall, passing over her eldest son's open door, through which she could see Brandon pouting, arms crossed, and Lena standing in front of him with an insistent expression on her face, and coming to a halt outside the middle door, with glittery letters spelling out her daughter's name decorating the rich wood.  
"Mariana?" she called, knocking lightly. "Are you almost ready?" No sound answered her call, and so she knocked again. "Mariana, can I come in?"  
A quiet mumble emanated through the door, and she took that as a yes, turning the brass knob slowly and sticking her head into the room.  
Mariana was sitting on her bed, fully dressed in her new outfit, but looking dejectedly at her lap, where she held a photograph.  
"You okay, babe?" Stef asked, crossing the room and squatting down in front of her daughter.  
"Are you sure you really want us forever?" Mariana asked quietly, her anxiety written on her face as she made eye contact with her foster mom.  
"Of course we do, love," Stef assured her, reaching out to cup her cheek tenderly. "Why would you ever think we wouldn't?"  
Mariana wordlessly held out the picture, which showed two babies and a young Latina woman. It was clearly the twins and their birth mom, and Stef took the image carefully, studying it.  
"What do you see, Mariana?" Stef asked, a plan forming in her mind.  
"Two kids nobody wanted, and their mom who didn't care," her daughter answered, dropping her eyes.  
"Do you want to know what I see, Mari?" she inquired gently, and Mariana nodded. "I see two of my wonderful children, with the woman who gave them to me." She kissed her daughter's forehead, standing up and laying the photograph on the bed. "Now let's go downstairs. Mama and I have a present for you and Jesús before we go sign the papers."  
She held her hand out, and Mariana took it shyly.  
"Mommy?" she asked quietly.  
"Yes, love?"  
"Can I have a hug?"  
"Of course, my love," Stef replied, scooping her up with a grin and kissing her head.

Once the whole family had finally been assembled by the front door, Stef and Lena presented the twins with a rectangle wrapped in brightly patterned paper.  
"We wanted to give you this, as an official welcome to the family."  
Jesús tore eagerly at one end of the package, while Mariana neatly ripped the tape off the corners on her end. Quickly the object inside was revealed - a single sheet of paper in a beautiful frame. Mariana grabbed the frame and slowly read aloud the poem within. She and Jesús smiled up at their moms, tears brimming.  
"Mama sandwich!" Stef cheered, swooping down to hug the twins from one side, while Lena copied her. Brandon wriggled into the middle too, and for a moment everyone was lost in kisses and hugs.  
"Let's go make this arrangement permanent, huh?" Lena invited, standing up and grabbing the car keys.  
"I'm ready," Mariana said, grabbing each of her moms by one hand. And with that, the family left the house, embarking on an exciting future.


End file.
